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Christi Caldwell Books

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To Redeem a Rake

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To Woo a Widow

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“I know you’ll both call me a romantic,” Gillian said softly, interrupting her thoughts and calling her attention. “But sometimes, gentlemen do horrid things. And make rotten choices that hurt a person. Phoebe,” she reminded them, looking back and forth between her friends. “My sister. But then they’ll have these moments,” she clasped her hands to her chest. “These grand gestures that prove their love and worth.”

RomanticGentlemenPoor ChoicesGrand GesturesRotten Things
Book:To Enchant a Wicked Duke
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“Her sister gave her a reassuring smile. “Come,” she said softly and Genevieve’s throat worked. How many times as children had she come to Gillian’s aid during her madcap schemes? In an utter role reversal, rescue should now be conferred by her younger sister. “Thank you,” she managed. “If you smile and hold your chin up, they stare less,” Gillian said, widening her smile. “And if you laugh, then it really confounds them.” With that, she tossed back her head and laughed.”

SocietyRescueLaughConfoundsSister Support
Book:The Lure of a Rake
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“He thinned his eyes into razor slits and took a step toward Constance Brandley. “Let us be clear, madam. ‘Company’ implies one who is invited, one who is welcome.” Of course the chit didn’t back away. She angled her chin up in a like, defiant fury, and his annoyance only burned hotter. “You, in fact, are neither. Not for me. And…” He flicked an icy stare over her. “I suspect not for anybody.” She gasped. He continued over that indignant outrage. “Furthermore, if you are very interested in exchanging lessons on propriety and manners, let your first one be to advise you against visiting bachelor gentlemen.” There was a beat of silence. “All bachelors.” He puzzled his brow. “It’s just, you said you’d advise me against paying visits to bachelor gentlemen.” As she prattled, he searched for—and failed to find—any indication that she jested. “When in actuality, a woman concerned with propriety should steer clear of not just gentlemen bachelors, but all bachelors.” The termagant worked her gaze up and down his person. “Your inability to acknowledge those men outside the peerage is no doubt a product of your ducal status. Of course,” she tacked on.”

CompanyMannersBachelorsPropriety
Book:Five Days with a Duke
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“I do love to waltz, you know.” Actually he hadn’t. What else did he not know about the woman he’d married? “The evenings that seemed unending. The magnificent gowns. I thought how much I loved the thrill of it all.” She lifted her gaze from her book. “Until I was sent away to the country and came to find a freedom that existed outside the confines of London. Joy driven by your own interests and not what Society believes your interests should be. Wagering. Waltzing. Shopping. What is the purpose of all that?”

PurposeFreedomWaltzConfines
Book:The Lure of a Rake
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“A healthy amount of fear snapped through Annalee. Eventually all tired of her. People tolerated only so much where she was concerned. From nursemaids to governesses to lovers . . . to even parents, ultimately everyone tired of her and her “antics,” as Mother referred to them. Perhaps this would prove the last straw for Sylvia. Though that would be the height of irony, indeed. (Page 134)”

ToleranceLast Straw
Book:A Wanton for All Seasons
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“You are one who is accustomed to ladies fawning and falling down for you,” she said quietly to herself. “You turn forth a grin and a laugh to ease the truth of your coldness.” His face froze in an unmoving mask. “Mayhap the world does not see past that. They see what you ask them to see.” Just as she naively had allowed herself to see in the library. Yet, that was not his fault. It was hers for wanting to see diamonds in the dust. “They see your smile. They hear your teasing words. They are so focused on those smiles that they do not realize…” At his narrowing eyes, she blinked and let her words die. She’d said too much, to a man who truly was nothing but a stranger. A stranger whose kiss still burns on my lips. “They see what?” he bit out. Gone was that smooth edge to his words. “The façade.” She knew because she was a woman who’d donned the same, stifling mask these five years. A harsh light glinted in his eyes. “You do not know anything of it.” “Oh, I suspect I know more than you’d care to think.”

FacadeEmpathFawningBeyond The Mask
Book:The Lure of a Rake
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“I’m hopelessly stuck with nothing more than an idea and a handful of sentences.” Nick returned his gaze to the page. “Write your own words,” he said quietly. “What?” “Do not search for inspiration within another poet or author’s tales orverse.” He captured her fingers and guided them to her breastbone. “Write from here.” From that place where all great agony, love, and despair lived in a synchronistic harmony that left a man forever in tumult.”

Write From The Heart
Book:To Enchant a Wicked Duke
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